


a shred of humanity

by aceofjapan



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Anxious Katsuki Yuuri, Depressed Katsuki Yuuri, Depression, Don't copy to another site, Hasetsu, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Post Sochi, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt, a shape of voice fusion, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:14:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22106119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aceofjapan/pseuds/aceofjapan
Summary: yes, thought yuuri, as his closet slowly but steadily emptied,make it all disappear. erase your dark past.left behind were only folded up cardboard boxes and empty clothes hangers.the vacuum they created in yuuri’s room made him feel so sated. so justified.and yet, it was not enough.--an exploration inspired by a silent voice / the shape of voice
Relationships: Katsuki Mari & Katsuki Yuuri, Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov
Comments: 112
Kudos: 164





	1. serenity

**Author's Note:**

> i don't usually do this.  
> this being posting something unfinished immediately as i write it. but i've been thinking about it non-stop for ten days and writing it has been catharsis and i need it to be out there.
> 
> the lack of capital letters is a stylistic choice i hope you won't hate me for.
> 
> this has been inspired by the movie A Silent Voice / The Shape of Voice, but it will not be a full AU or follow the plot of the movie. it's set in the YOI canonverse, but I've taken some inspiration from some of the movie's scenes.
> 
> I don't know yet how long this will be or where it will go exactly. I don't think any MAW will apply, but I don't want to limit myself in writing this, which is why I chose not to apply MAW. **please mind the additional tags** , though. that's all for now. enjoy.

yuuri felt out of place in his old childhood bedroom.

it would have been easier had it been dusty, neglected in some way during his absence of five years. but his family had kept it meticulously clean, as they did the rest of the onsen, while also keeping it meticulously untouched.

it looked the exact same way he’d left it behind when he went off to university.

it made yuuri, now five years older, a diploma, few medals and many disappointments richer, feel like he was in a museum exhibit. not allowed to touch anything, prohibited from sitting on the furniture for fear of disrupting the carefully maintained history.

that faraway history when yuuri was a promising young skater leaving home in order to pursue an international career.

all these aspirations, the hopes his family had set in him, the hopes he’d set in himself, preserved, unchanged, for him to find again.

what a joke it had turned out to be.

yuuri hated all of it. he wanted it gone.

that younger, more naive version of himself, that version that had harboured all those dreams, he wanted to get rid of every trace of it. he wanted to eradicate it along with the rest of himself.

it was surprisingly easy, once he‘d made the decision.

the first things to go were his victor nikiforov posters and all his other paraphernalia. they were all in top condition—thankfully young, naive yuuri had taken good care of his prized possessions—and had, over the years, accumulated quite the collector‘s worth. they were all out of print, some even limited edition and hard to get even when they were new.

yuuri knew just the right places on the internet to get rid of items like these, and for a nice profit, too. 

the suddenly bare walls of his room, the empty spaces, pale outlines on the wood where his picture frames and collector‘s figurines had sat felt oddly satisfying. satisfying in the way that it does peeling the scab off a wound in one piece, a little too early maybe, the skin underneath still raw and thin and prone to start bleeding again at the slightest movement, but it was just too tempting to pick at the scab and that moment when you finally pull off the last corner of it fills you with a rush of satisfaction.

that‘s how it felt, and yuuri craved that satisfaction. so he went and searched his skin for another scab.

none of the others could compare however—none of his other possessions seemed to have the same symbolic weight, the same significance when he packed them up to be shipped to their new owners. his books, his old video games and handheld consoles. some of his old clothes that were still in good condition, his CDs, the odd useless decoration strewn about the room, figurines and clutter from old anime and games he used to love.

none of it gave him that same rush of twisted pleasure that it had the first time, so he kept going back to dig deeper into his closet. 

that’s where he found his old skates.

they were all set carefully in their old boxes, protected from damp and dust. they were all worn through, of course, he always used to—and still did—wear out his skates for as long as he possibly could, hoping to put off the moment when buying new ones became inevitable. 

still, it was surprisingly easy to find people to sell them to. he supposed they were still high-quality skates, and even though they were worn into the specific shape of his own feet, and the lining inside covered in faded old bloodstains, they could be invaluable to an aspiring young skater from a low income family, desperate for anything that would let them keep skating.

yuuri tried to sell to those rather than the inevitable weirdos messaging him about the specific conditions of the skates and their smell and how old he’d been when he’d worn them. but if there weren’t any other takers, he’d sell to those, too. money was money, after all, and he found it gave him another, different kind of pleasure to think of his once so precious skates being debased like that, stripped of their original purpose and their naïveté, to be reduced to a mere fetish.

it felt like some kind of poetic justice.

his old costumes from juniors went the same way, sold off and shipped out throughout the country for young skaters and school theatre troupes and eager creeps alike.

_yes_ , thought yuuri, as his closet slowly but steadily emptied, _make it all disappear. erase your dark past_.

left behind were only folded up cardboard boxes and empty clothes hangers. 

the vacuum they created in yuuri’s room made him feel so sated. so justified.

and yet, it was not enough.

he‘d already sold off or given away most of the possessions he’d accumulated in detroit before he left the US, bringing back only one suitcase’s worth of belongings back to hasetsu. but once he ran out of his old childhood things, he started to sell those, too. 

most of his clothes and shoes, his newer games, his recent costumes. 

the emptier his room became, the calmer he felt. looking around the bare surfaces brought a unique kind of pleasure that he soon became addicted to. he needed more of it.

he kept selling more, donating or giving away what nobody wanted to pay any money for, throwing out the truly worthless things, until there was nothing left to give. 

the last things to go when his room had been cleared out were his laptop, his headphones, his cellphone. 

he shut them off without hesitation, cleared all his data from them. it wasn't like he‘d been still using them anyway.

he was left in a bare room, only the deserted furniture left behind, the bed stripped of sheets, even the old stickers peeled off the bed frame.

yuuri sat on the floor, back leaning against the bed, knees pulled close to his chest, taking in the emptiness around him. he felt... serene. 

right in front of him, leaning against the foot of his desk, there was his last possession remaining, the last thing he owned other than the very clothes on his back.

his last pair of skates.

he didn't encounter anyone when he left the onsen, skates in hand. 

there was one final thing left for him to do.

it felt right, standing on the ice again. 

that was a relief; it hadn't felt right standing on the ice since sochi.

it did now: now that all he had left in this world were his skates, this was where he belonged again. there was nowhere else for him to be.

he remembered the peaceful feeling, that serenity that had come over him in his empty room, and he started to skate.

he skated with a lightness he‘d never felt before, even when he ran his routines late at night on the rink all alone.

he skated it not for yuuko's benefit, though she was watching.

he skated it not for victor, though it was his routine.

he skated it only for himself and for the ice; a last goodbye between them. 

he left it all out on the ice, everything he still possessed.

he didn't stick around for long after the triplets and takeshi appeared. 

there was nothing left in him to deal with them.

there was nothing left in him to feel bad about it, either.

he‘d gotten what he came for.

he left ice castle with a wave and a non-committal _see you later_.

he slept on his bare bed, shivering, and the next morning he crept out of the onsen while his parents and mari were dealing with the morning rush of customers.

it took some (very polite) arguing with the clerk behind the desk, but finally yuuri was allowed to terminate his bank account. his meagre savings left after his failed attempt at a figure skating career, along with his profits from selling his possessions, were handed over to him by the clerk in a wad of cash.

it wasn't much, not as much as he’d hoped to be able to procure, but it was the best that he could do.

he wrapped it carefully in a piece of paper, contemplating for a long while the right words to write on it. he put it down neatly on his bare desk.

then he went downstairs, sat down with his family for lunch. offered reassuring platitudes to his mother‘s questions about his well being, returned deadpan comments for mari‘s teasing remarks.

it was easy. 

when minako appeared shortly after they finished lunch and demanded answers from yuuri about some video that had been uploaded to the internet, yuuri didn't even flinch.

it didn't concern him anymore. 

he spent the remaining afternoon on his knees before the family shrine. he breathed in the faint smell of incense. vicchan‘s picture, his tags had not accumulated any dust—and they never would.

yuuri knew that his mother was too fastidious in her duties to let that happen.

he silently entrusted the care of the shrine to her.

during dinner, he listened silently to his family‘s conversation, discussions of chores coming up around the house, local gossip, the most recent football games.

nothing was asked of yuuri—it wasn't unusual, even after all this time, for him to follow a conversation quietly, content to listen. his family knew, if he had something to say, he would speak up.

when everyone went in search of their own activities after dinner—mari heading outside for a cigarette, his mother looking after the remaining guests out in the main room, his father taking care of the clean-up in the kitchen—yuuri bid them all good night with a smile.

his bed, stripped bare, didn’t feel quite so cold that night.

the next morning came, and yuuri put on his last remaining set of athletic clothing, left right where he had put it down the night before.

he made the bed and set his skates in their hard guards on the neatly folded comforter.

he made sure the bundle of cash was still sitting prominently at the centre of his desk.

leaning against the door frame, he took in his neatly cleaned out room once more. 

during most of the process, he had left the closet doors and drawers wide open at all times. seeing the emptiness left behind them had filled him with a strange warmth every time.

it had given the room an unfinished appearance, the slightly messy air of someone moving in or moving out.

now, all the doors and drawers were neatly shut, all surfaces empty and clean. this wasn't a room lived in. it wasn’t even a room about to be lived in, or recently lived in.

it was completely lifeless.

it was perfect.

yuuri pulled the door shut behind him.

it took him a while to reach the big bridge on foot. it was further out than he usually went on his errands or runs through hasetsu. 

he didn’t have a watch or a phone any more, so he wasn't sure how long it took him in the end, but when he reached the cable-stayed bridge, the largest one crossing the river, the sun was fully risen.

a brilliant spring day.

school had long since started, and what little rush-hour traffic hasetsu got had long since dissipated.

it was quiet.

yuuri had barely seen another soul on his walk, and there was no one on the bridge now.

he wandered along the edge of it, looking down into the sparkling waters of the river. he wondered if he should stay close to the shore, where there were rough rocks and boulders extending into the water, or if he should go further toward the middle, where the river was at its deepest.

he wandered the whole length of the bridge once, then turned back toward the middle.

despite the brilliant spring sunlight, there was a cutting breeze blowing in from the bay, ruffling his hair. when he stopped his steps, the rush of the wind blowing in his ears and rustling his clothes and the faraway cries of the gulls were the only sounds he heard.

he thought of the quiet emptiness of his room. How simple it had felt, sitting curled up against his bed frame.

he thought of that rush of righteousness he had felt, selling his old skates and costumes.

_erase yourself_ , he thought. _unmake yourself. disappear._

he didn’t feel scared.

he didn’t feel much of anything, except for the wind tearing on his jacket, when he swung himself over the railing.

his feet found the narrow ledge on the other side.

he swayed.

he didn’t hear the noise of a dog barking, torn away in bits and pieces by the wind.

he didn’t think. he didn’t hesitate. he didn’t doubt.

his fingers let go of the railing.

there was a grip, hard as iron, around his wrist.


	2. hysteria

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's the second chapter of this mess for you.
> 
> **tags updated.**
> 
> i don't think it makes sense to put warnings at the beginning of each chapter of this story. this whole thing is going to be a mess of triggering content and for once i don't wanna limit myself in where this story might go. obviously i will update the tags with relevant warnings as they appear and give you a note here when i do. but i'm not going to put a cw in the chapter notes bc tbh "discussion of a suicide attempt" should be a fairly obvious warning for every single chapter of this thing. 
> 
> that being said if there is something specific you think should be tagged but does not appear in my tags, please do let me know. i'm not here to hurt any of you, unless you choose to let me do so.
> 
> thank you so much for your interest in the story so far.

“yuuri! no!”

the shout, so close to him, and the sudden grip around his wrist made him flinch, his balance faltering on the narrow ledge. automatically he tried to find his footing again, his free hand grasping the railing even as the other tried to pull away from its hold.

“let go of me”, yuuri said, quietly despite the adrenaline suddenly flooding his system. blood was rushing in his ears like the wind howling. he strained against the fingers on his wrist, not looking back, teetering still.

and then there was an arm slung around his chest from the other side, pulling him back flush against the railing.

“please, yuuri, don’t. don’t do this.”

the words were muffled against the fabric of his jacket, a prayer whispered into him, the other’s forehead pressed between his shoulder blades.

yuuri couldn’t move, couldn’t turn around, the arm like a vice around his torso.

he stared down at it, paralysed—this was no one he knew in hasetsu, none of his family, nor yuuko or takeshi or minako. they wouldn’t speak to him in english, and besides, that strip of skin visible between the coat and gloves and the arm around his chest was the pale skin of a foreigner. a westerner.

who…?

“let go of me”, yuuri whispered again, feeling slightly nauseous at the sensation of a stranger holding on to him so intimately. “this doesn’t concern you. just let me go.”

if anything, the grip became firmer at his words.

“i can’t do that. i can’t—please, yuuri. you don’t have to do this. whatever it is, there’s gotta be… this can’t be the way.”

yuuri clenched his jaw against the voice, strange and faintly familiar at the same time. 

“don’t act like you know—... this is none of your business. who are you to think—...”

he twisted around, tried to as much as he could, but still he couldn’t see more than a shape of the stranger hunched against his back from the corner of his eyes. it didn’t tell him anything.

what he did see, though, was another figure moving on the other side of the railing, smaller, a glimpse of brown fur that made yuuri gasp with a sudden stab of pain in his chest.

_vicchan?_

no—it was a much larger dog, its distressed barks much deeper and more full-bodied than vicchan’s high-pitched yips. 

from what yuuri could see, it butted its head against the stranger’s legs, evidently it’s owner, whining and barking and whining again, tearing at his coat with its teeth.

the curly brown fur of the dog, the strange and yet familiar voice, the pale arm clad in a fine coat and leather gloves slotted themselves together like puzzle pieces in yuuri’s mind.

he barely dared breathe the name, for fear of being mistaken—but then again, if it was someone else holding him back, in their offense or surprise at being mistaken for someone else yuuri might finally be let go, might finally be allowed to finish what he came to do.

“vi… victor?”

still closer the arm wrapped around him, the warm presence at his back pressing into him.

“please, yuuri”, the voice behind him said, and now that yuuri knew, its cadence and slightly accented inflection was so familiar, “don’t do this. don’t—please, i’ll do anything, just… don’t jump. don’t do this to me.”

yuuri stiffened at his last words.

 _i’m not doing anything to you_ , he thought, _i’m nothing to you. this isn’t about you._

aloud, he said, “what the hell are you even doing here?”

“i came to see you. i—... your video. i saw it.”

 _video_ , yuuri thought, numb, _my video_.

distantly, he remembered something that minako had told him a couple of days ago. a video.

he hadn’t thought it’d matter, at the time.

and now victor nikiforov was here, in hasetsu, begging him.

begging him not to die.

“that… that doesn’t make any sense. _why are you here?_ ”

victor took a breath that yuuri could feel shuddering against his spine.

“i’ll explain everything to you. i’ll tell you whatever you want to know, if you just—come. come away from the bridge. just let me talk to you.”

yuuri shook his head. could feel the movement extending in shivers all throughout his body. 

“no”, he breathed, and then, firmer, “no! this isn’t right. this is not how it was supposed to go.”

he could hear his own voice climbing ever higher in pitch, unable to do anything about it.

“this wasn’t supposed to happen. i was supposed to be done. finished. you weren’t supposed to be here.”

he took a deep, shuddering breath, breaking apart into fragments of a sob before it reached the bottom of his lungs.

“you weren’t—no one was supposed to stop me!”

victor’s glove-clad fingers buried themselves deeper in yuuri’s jacket, just above his heart.

“i can’t just watch you do this. don’t make me, please, i—”

“fuck you!”, yuuri pressed out between shallow breaths. panic was starting to clamp down around his throat, making him dizzy. this was supposed to be easy. this was supposed to be _his_. his choice. he had prepared everything. he was supposed to die.

he had been so calm. it had seemed so simple.

instead now he stood here with victor nikiforov’s arms around him, a dog barking next to him that kept tearing deeper chasms into his chest, _panicking_. every point of contact between him and victor burned, the closeness too much and he wanted nothing more than to tear away, tear away, tear away.

“this is my choice.” the air in his lungs was growing thin. “i don’t owe you anything!”

he wanted to continue, wanted to say more. _i don’t owe you to live_ and _i am nothing to you_ and _just let me die_. but there was no more breath in him, no more air, and he ached, gasping. he wanted to double over, dizziness descending on him. 

his knees were going weak, and he could feel himself sinking.

 _this is it_ , he thought, _either he lets me go, or i pull him down with me._

but instead, the hand around his wrist shifted, coming up to wrap around his chest as well, hooking under his arm, and he felt himself being lifted, pulled.

he wanted to struggle, thrash against that hold on him, but his limbs felt numb, distant, like they weren't even a part of him.

his legs snatched on the railing, pulling painfully, but finally he cleared it, his legs collapsing under him as soon as his feet touched the concrete of the sidewalk, unable to keep him upright any longer.

victor sank down behind him, still not relinquishing his hold as yuuri doubled over, trying desperately to gulp air into his aching lungs.

one of his hands moved over yuuri’s chest in a way that was probably meant to be soothing, but it made yuuri want to throw up.

„stop“, he gasped out, voice thin in his own ears, „fucking—touching me.“

„i can’t do that.“ victor‘s voice sounded strained—he didn’t let go. he did cease his rubbing motion, however, and shifted one arm down to yuuri‘s waist, the other upwards, closer to his collarbone, which he probably considered to be a less intimate touch, but it just made yuuri feel like he was being choked.

 _everything is ruined now_ , yuuri thought, the only thought spiralling in his head, _all ruined. all ruined._

victor made some aborted attempts at saying soothing things, reassuring things, but he seemed to realise himself that he wasn't helping.

he fell silent, and still yuuri couldn't breathe.

in the end, it was a soft whine and a cold nose pressed to his hand that startled him out of his spiral. 

he looked up into makkachin‘s dark, watery eyes, and in a gesture ingrained by years and years of habit he reached out to bury his fingers in her curly fur.

tremors ran through his hand, but he didn't tug, so makkachin let it happen, let him just feel that reassuring, that innocent warmth, that guileless breath moving her body.

she sniffed at him, cautious but curious, then licked at his other hand.

tears dripped down into her fur, but yuuri‘s breath was starting to come easier.

his dizziness was slowly fading, the aching in his lungs subsiding. his hands were no longer shaking, and he made use of them to gently run them over makkachin’s fur. 

the dog accepted his pets quietly, with a slight wag to her tail, and any words that yuuri might have wanted to whisper at her got stuck in his throat. he nodded at her instead, the only gesture he could muster, which she accepted with the indifference of an animal that did not understand its meaning.

with the panic attack draining away, exhaustion settled over yuuri, and with it came the calm once more.

it wasn’t that same serene, peaceful calm that he had felt earlier, it was something heavier, something more ragged, but it was calm nonetheless.

victor, behind him, was still silent, though yuuri could feel a shaking running through him that indicated he was crying.

he didn’t understand. 

didn’t understand why victor cared, why any of this meant anything to him. sure, he supposed, it was normal to be distressed when witnessing someone trying to jump off a bridge, normal to try and save them if you had that kind of courage. 

but beyond that, he didn’t understand why his death would mean anything to victor. why his life meant anything to him. he didn’t understand why victor felt entitled to make any kind of choice over yuuri’s life. he didn’t understand why victor was here in the first place.

he still hadn’t seen his face–part of him was still not believing that it was actually victor nikiforov, here, on a bridge in hasetsu, his arms around yuuri.

“victor”, he said, his voice hoarse now, but calm again, “i need you to let go of me now.”

“i ca—i can’t.” victor’s voice was wavering, weak. he was indeed crying. 

yuuri bit his tongue, trying not to squirm under that uncomfortable—too close, too close, too close—touch. 

“hold on to my wrist or my arm then, if you must”, he forced out, “but i can’t have you—you don’t even know me. i don’t know you, not really. you holding on to me like i mean anything to you, I just–it’s…”— _toomuchtoomuchtoomuch_ —“it’s too much.”

victor’s head lifted from where it was pressed against his back, and now yuuri could actually see a glimpse of dishevelled silver hair from the corner of his eye.

“oh, but you do”, victor breathed, “you do, yuuri, you mean a great deal.”

he did finally loosen his hold on yuuri, though he kept one hand on him at all time, sliding it down his arm until it came to rest around his wrist again, where yuuri could already feel the skin swelling, bruising underneath his sleeves. it might be interpreted as an innocent gesture by a bystander, but victor’s grip was still too firm, too painful, to be seen as anything other than what it was: a vice, meant to keep him where he was.

victor shuffled around him on the rough concrete, until they could actually face each other, and only then did yuuri believe that it was actually victor nikiforov who had just interrupted his carefully planned suicide.

“you mean so much”, victor said, his words still no more than a whisper, “to me, and to so many other people, i’m sure. please, don’t ever make the mistake of thinking you don’t.”

yuuri stared.

victor looked wrecked–his hair messy, some strands sticking to his face we with sweat or tears, his eyes red and watery, his usually so smooth and controlled features pulled into a grimace. 

yuuri had never seen him look anything like it, in all his years—no, strike that. yuuri had only ever once seen him look anything like it, back when he had twisted his knee in a bad landing at the Grand Prix Final six years ago. when he’d had to be practically carried off the ice, forcing him to sit out the rest of the season. his last loss before his long, long winning streak. 

victor nikiforov, yuuri realised now, seeing his features twisted in that same way, was _in pain_.

and even then, there was a difference, yuuri thought, staring at the tear tracks on victor’s cheeks.

back then, victor hadn’t cried.

yuuri shook his head, slowly.

“why?”, he asked, and then, when an answer wasn’t forthcoming, “why do you care?”

victor shook his head in turn, like the question didn’t make sense to him.

“of course i care! yuuri—”

“no”, yuuri interrupted, voice not loud, but firm, “you don’t know me. why would you care?”

“i…”, victor hesitated, something uncertain in his eyes that yuuri had never seen before, “i know we haven’t spent a lot of time together. and clearly i don’t… i don’t know you. not like i thought i did. i had no idea you were… so unhappy.” he swallowed. “but i felt like… after sochi, i felt like we had a connection.”

“after… sochi?”, yuuri echoed. he didn’t understand. he hadn’t talked to victor in sochi. had barely seen him. what about yuuri bombing his first grand prix final and walking away from victor constituted a connection between them?

“was it just me?”, victor asked, something sheepish in his voice now, and something sad. “it must have been. after all, you never contacted me after and… well, i suppose it makes sense if you were planning to…” he trailed off, his grip around yuuri’s wrist tightening, perhaps unconsciously.

yuuri shook his head, still lost. he didn’t understand—it was like they were trying to have two different conversations, like there was something he forgot—he inhaled sharply. _something he forgot_.

“the banquet.”

victor looked at him, brow furrowed. “wha—... yes. yes, the banquet. what else would i be talking about?”

yuuri looked pointedly away from victor, focusing on petting makkachin instead. 

“what did—did we… did—... what happened?”

he felt victor’s gaze burning into him.

“you don’t… remember?”

yuuri gave a half-hearted shrug. “i was drunk. when i drink, i forget.”

“i… see.”

a silence settled over them, tense, in which yuuri still avoided looking at victor. shivers ran over him, now that the heated adrenaline was disappearing from the system and the cold concrete underneath him and the swift breeze around him cut into his skin.

he felt completely drained, exhaustion settling like a weighted blanket around his shoulders.

he became suddenly aware of cars passing by the bridge every once in a while, some of them slowing down to stare at them, two men and a dog sitting on the sidewalk in the middle of a bridge. there were bound to be other pedestrians, too, sooner or later.

yuuri sighed, trying to resist the urge to slump forward and just lie down on the concrete until the cold took him. every inch of his body was screaming for a break.

"we should probably, uhm, go… somewhere else”, he said eventually, still running the fingers of his free hand through makkachin’s fur. “i don’t know. talk, maybe?”

“yeah?” victor’s face, when yuuri flicked his gaze towards him, was a mixture of hopeful and suspicious.

yuuri nodded. “people are bound to notice if we stay here much longer. and news travels fast around here. this is a small town.”

victor nodded as well, but didn’t make to move. just studied yuuri’s face like he was looking for something.

yuuri sighed again. “you can keep holding on to me, if it makes you feel better. anyway, this is what you wanted, right? to get me off this bridge?”

“so you’re not going to…?”, victor left the sentence meaningfully unfinished.

yuuri shrugged, getting to his feet, a slight waver still in his knees. “it’s not like you’re going to let me, are you? so i don’t exactly have a choice right now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't be deceived.  
> absolutely nothing is resolved.  
> 
> 
> this was a challenge to write.  
> this is such a difficult situation, and pinpointing how a person would react to it is nearly impossible, i think.  
> i could probably write 15 different version of this chapter with victor and yuuri handling the situation in 15 different ways, and none would be less plausible in my mind than the other.  
> this is the one i settled on.
> 
> thank you for reading.


	3. fatigue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for taking a while.  
> ASH is still proving to be one of the hardest things i ever had to write.  
> this chapter forced me to face some hard truths about myself.
> 
> i hope it means something to other people, as well.

victor held on to yuuri as they walked, and yuuri held on to makkachin, though makkachin was really well-trained enough to follow on her own.

they walked along the bridge, away from the direction where yu-topia lay. at the end of the bridge, they collected a suitcase and a backpack from the sidewalk.

yuuri hadn’t noticed them until they had set off, and victor just shrugged as he pulled on the backpack, alternating hands so he could keep holding on to yuuri.

“i was in the cab. from the station. i saw you walking along the bridge when i passed. and i was… well, i was excited to see you. i wanted to say hello right away. i thought… i thought, what a wonderful coincidence it was. i told the cabby to stop.”

he looked down momentarily as he pulled out the handle of his suitcase with his free hand.

“by the time i’d paid him and gotten my things and makka out, you were already back at the middle of the bridge. i was just about to call out when i saw you climb over the railing. so i just sort of… dropped everything. and ran.”

yuuri said nothing.

he didn’t move to take victor’s suitcase from him. he might have, had they been at yu-topia and yuuri within the deeply ingrained customer service mindset. as it was, though, his left wrist was held firm by victor, his right hand still buried in makkachin’s fur, who stood between them expectantly, tail wagging uncertainly.

he started walking again, stepped off the bridge, and man and dog to his sides followed.

they walked a narrow walkway along the river, the water shallow here at the edges, the bank flat. late morning sunlight was reflecting off the surface. it was quiet, the gentle rush of the water and faraway cries of the seagulls the only sounds for the most part.

they did encounter other people every once in a while, a woman with a pram, a lone jogger out for a run. 

they earned some curious glances, but no one spoke to them. nor did they speak to each other.

the smooth leather of victor’s glove around yuuri’s wrist grew colder the longer they walked, and so, yuuri felt, the air grew colder between them the longer the silence stretched.

he wondered quietly if victor regretted pulling him back yet.

makkachin had long since detached herself from yuuri, running ahead on the grassy river bank with excited barks, loping back every once in a while, only to run off again when they started to catch up.

the high tension between her human and this strange new guy only a little while ago seemed to have already disappeared from her mind.

yuuri’s wrist hurt, though victor’s grip was looser now, loose enough, probably, that yuuri could have torn away from it if he wanted. but the skin felt swollen under victor’s fingers, red and bruising from the earlier force of his grasp. as much as he resented the touch itself, he found himself leaning into the pain.

yuuri hadn’t noticed he was slowing down until his steps came to a stop.

“can we… let’s sit”, he said, nodding toward the bank, and victor followed him wordlessly to where he sank down on the grass.

makkachin was trotting along the water a little ways away, sniffing at this and that.

yuuri could feel victor’s gaze resting on him, searching, prickling. 

he could feel the questions simmering in victor’s mind, preparing to bubble over. preparing to force answers out of him that he didn’t have or wasn’t willing to give.

keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the glittering water, he opened his mouth, asked first.

“so, uhm…. the banquet?”

there was a long few moments of silence, and when victor answered, his voice was dark. not angry, as such, but a disappointment in it that stabbed into yuuri sharply.

“you really don’t remember anything?”

yuuri pulled his shoulders up.

“i remember being there and being miserable. i remember drinking some champagne and still being miserable. i remember drinking some more champagne, and then nothing after that, until i woke up the next morning. i… i figured i’d just drunk myself into a stupor until ciao-ciao hauled me back to my room.”

victor scoffed.

“not quite. it was me, actually. i… took you to your room. haul is probably not a bad word for it. you weren’t exactly steady on your feet by then.”

yuuri couldn’t help the scowl etched onto his face.

“well, good to know that your obsession with touching me extends beyond just today.”

he didn’t quite know why he said it. victor had helped him, most likely meaning well, and even if yuuri couldn’t see his help today as anything but unwanted, surely he should be thankful at least for back then?

victor's expression darkened further and he lifted his hand still encircling yuuri's wrist. "do you really think i _like_ this? that i want to be doing this? that i take any kind of pleasure in this? believe me, this is not how I was hoping this would go."

then he smiled, a tight thing, something savage and something sad about it.

“besides, you say that as if you didn’t grind on me in front of everyone at the banquet.”

yuuri could feel the blood draining from his face, his gaze snapping toward victor.

“i did what?”

“grind on me”, victor repeated, a blasé expression on his face, “in your underwear. extensively.” 

“oh my god”, yuuri lifted both hands to his mouth, horror curling in his gut, “i’m so sorry.”

“that’s quite alright, yuuri, i--...”

“it’s not!”, yuuri interrupted him, his voice hollow with horror at himself, “i, god, i practically assaulted you. i’m so sorry, when i drink i just go off the rails and-...”

“yuuri, stop.” victor’s voice was alarmed, but firm.”it’s okay. you did not assault me, okay? nothing happened that night that i wasn’t absolutely on board with. though, if i’d known how drunk you really were, i’d have stopped you, for your own sake. but you were… well, not lucid exactly, but with the way you moved i really didn’t think you could have been all that drunk. not until just now, to be honest.”

victor cast him a sidelong glance, obviously aware of the discomfort still etched into yuuri’s features.

“you were actually quite respectful of my boundaries, if that makes you feel any better. i mean, we danced for quite a while, but for the first few songs you wouldn’t even get close to me. we just kind of… mirrored each other’s movements from afar. we moved gradually closer, but you were still hesitant to put your hands on me even when i welcomed it. like i was… like i was too precious to be touched. only when you saw my enthusiasm, when i kept encouraging you with my own words and touches, did you pull me closer, hold me firmer.”

he sighed. “i just--... i wish i’d known how incapacitated you were. i wish i’d known it didn’t mean the same to you as it did to me.”

“i… it…”, yuuri’s mouth was dry as he searched for words, the whole exchange not quite sinking in. “it would have meant the world to me”, he finally croaked out, “if i’d remembered. as it is, it just seems… surreal. you know? it doesn’t feel like it’s actually happened.”

he stared down at his hands, picking at the dry skin around his nails. picking at it until it bled. victor’s grip tightened slightly on his wrist. he stopped.

“it’s like… it’s like when someone tells you a dream they’ve had, you know? you can tell it’s affected them and you’re trying to understand, but it’s not something that’s happened to you. so it just… doesn’t really… mean anything to you.”

as soon as the last words were out of yuuri’s mouth, he could hear how callous they sounded, wanted to take them back. but they were true. yuuri felt… something, he wasn’t sure what, about the fact that _victor nikiforov_ had fond memories of dancing with him, fond enough that he was disappointed to learn that yuuri didn’t feel the same. but the dancing itself did not evoke anything in him because, as far as he was concerned, it hadn’t happened to him.

“i’m sorry”, yuuri said, because it seemed the right thing to say and because he did wish he could remember. “you know, i would… i... “, all sorts of confessions crowded into his throat, clogging up his airway, weighing down his tongue. _i would have given everything for a chance to dance with you. i’ve always wanted you to notice me. i didn’t think you even knew my name, or that you would care if i died. i can’t believe you came to japan for me._

that last one made him stop short. 

“wait, that still doesn’t explain…”, he looked over at victor, eyebrows creased. victor still looked so hurt. “why did you come to japan? to hasetsu?”

victor’s expression darkened further, and so did his cheeks, a blush tinting his skin. yuuri stared at it.

“well, at the banquet you asked me… you invited me to come.” victor turned his face away to hide against his shoulder, gaze trailing after makkachin where she bounded along the river bank. “when i didn’t hear from you after, i figured you may not have meant it. since you were drunk. when i saw your video, i thought…”

victor stood up abruptly, fingers letting go of yuuri’s wrist for the first time, stumbling a step forward. all that yuuri could see was his back, all he could hear the strain in his voice when he spoke again.

“it doesn’t matter what i thought. you didn’t want me here. you weren’t even expecting to still be here, after today.”

“no. i wasn’t”, yuuri said, quietly, staring at the back of victor’s head and wondering how victor made it sound like somehow that was a personal injustice done to him by yuuri.

“i was expecting to be dead.”

yuuri could see victor flinch even from the back and felt some vicious kind of satisfaction at that. he fell silent when victor turned around, kneeling suddenly at his feet, his face once more level with yuuri’s. his gaze was harrowed and searching and still so hurt.

“why, yuuri? why would you want to…?”

again, victor left the sentence meaningfully unfinished, and it sent a stab of annoyance through yuuri.

“kill myself?”, he completed the question, making victor wince again. he scoffed. “why does anyone?”

the expression on victor’s face turned into something thoughtful, focused.

“alright”, he said, “so you’re depressed. that’s… we can get you help. you’ll get better. you won’t always feel like this.”

yuuri shook his head with a sigh. He pulled his legs close to his body and wrapped his arms around them, gathering his words. “i… i’m tired”, he said eventually, “i’m tired of hating myself. i’m tired of feeling guilty all the time. i’m tired of … hurting.” he threaded his fingers together, clenching them hard against one another. “nothing i can do is going to make that go away. not really.”

victor frowned. “maybe not completely, but you can get better. happier. i know it doesn’t feel like it now, but—...”

“stop”, yuuri interrupted him, “i don’t need your platitudes. you’re not helping. and anyway, no amount of antidepressants would fix all the things i’ve fucked up in my life in the last five years. ten years? however long it’s been.”

the furrow in victor‘s brow knit itself deeper as he stared at yuuri, searching, as if he could read an answer on his face.

"surely it‘s not all that bad? i… i know you haven‘t had a great season, but you‘re still so young, you can come back. and if you really want me to—“

"seriously, victor, stop.“ yuuri‘s voice was sharper this time, cutting cleanly through victor‘s rambling words, not one of which he probably believed himself. "stop—stop trying to _fix_ this. stop trying to solve my problems for me, as if you have any idea… that‘s not gonna make me stick around!“

"i‘m just trying to help!“

"well, don‘t!“, yuuri snapped, "i didn‘t ask for your help. do you really think i haven‘t thought of any of this myself? do you honestly think i‘ve just been waiting for someone to come and tell me _just get help_ and _there‘ll be another season?_ you… don‘t act like you have any idea how i feel or why i‘m doing this.“

victor ran his hands through his hair in irritation, frown deepening.

"then tell me. tell me how i can help you. tell me what i can do to make this—…“

"nothing! there‘s nothing you can do! just stop—stop trying to help!“

 _this is it_ , yuuri thought, watching victor‘s expression settle into something firm and hard, _he‘s going to walk away_. instead what he did was reach out and settle his hand on yuuri‘s knee. yuuri tried not to flinch away from the touch.

"i‘m not going to leave you to die, yuuri.“

"why?“, yuuri‘s voice is hollow, his gaze fixed on victor‘s gloved hand resting on his track pants. "why do you even bother? i‘m…“, he takes a long, deep breath, "i‘m nothing. i‘m no one. i‘m not a good person. you shouldn‘t expend your energy on me.“

"you‘re a human being, are you not?“ 

when yuuri shrugged, victor went on. "if i see a person whose life is in danger, i am going to try to help, no matter who they are. i don‘t know what kind of person you take me for that you think i wouldn‘t. and it doesn’t matter if the danger comes from themselves, either.“

yuuri shook his head. “i’m not worth it”, he whispered, “this is… it’s for the best.”

victor pressed his lips together, draining the colour from them.

“i don’t understand how you can be so cavalier about this. this is still a human life we’re talking about here.”

“yeah, well, it’s my life”, yuuri said, pulling up his shoulders, “it’s my right to be cavalier about it. it’s not like i’ll… if I borrow a book from someone else, of course i’ll treat it carefully and return it in good condition. but if it’s my book, i can make as many dog ears in it as i damn well please.”

victor’s eyes widened. “you—you make dog ears in your books?! No, wait, that’s not important right now… i… this is hardly the same thing, yuuri.”

“no”, yuuri replied in a whisper, “it’s not. this is not a dog ear or three. i… wanna burn the book.” something pinched settled on victor’s face again, but yuuri continued before he could say anything. “i know there’s a lot of people who think burning books should not be done. who think that it’s morally wrong. who think that people who burn books are bad people. but i…”, he took a shaky breath, “i really hate this book. i can’t stand to be around it any more. and i’m not saying that burning books is good. i’m not saying that everyone should burn the books that they hate. but this is… this is my book and i cannot stop reading it even though i want to and burning it is the only thing i can…”, he stopped, tears crashing down, suddenly, unbidden, staining the fabric of his jacket darker, but somehow it was easier now, to let out the words stuck in his throat, “so please... just let me burn the book. don’t make me read it any more.”

victor was quiet for a long minute. yuuri stared at his knees, hot tears beading at his lashes and running down his face to collect at his chin. every few seconds, there was a quiet _plop_ as they dropped on his clothes.

“that book is the only one of its kind, yuuri”, victor said eventually, voice so soft that it made yuuri feel like a child, “you’ve got the only one. what if there’s other people who would like a chance to read it?”

“i don’t care”, yuuri said, sniffling, “i don’t care. no one should read it. it’s not a good book. everyone who’s read it is just worse off for having read it.”

victor gave him a sad little smile. “i can’t say that i’m any worse off.”

“that’s a lie”, yuuri said, a bitter note in his voice, “just look at you now. look at how unhappy you are, when you should be enjoying your vacation. besides, you haven’t read it. not really. you’ve seen one sentence out of context and thought it might be your favourite book if you read more of it. it won’t be. it’s a bad book. you shouldn’t read it.”

“shouldn’t that be my decision to make?”

yuuri shrugged. “it’s your choice which books you want to or don’t want to read. but this is my book and i can also decide that i don’t want you to read it.”

“i…”, victor looked up at him, something indistinct clouding his eyes, “i won’t. if you don’t want me to. whether you end up burning it or not, i… i will never take another look at the book, never try to read another word, if it helps you decide not to burn it.”

yuuri’s hands clenched, fingernails digging painfully into the skin.

“i wouldn’t… it’s not that i would mind you reading the book, really”, he said, voice wavering, “it’s just… you’ll be disappointed. it’s not the kind of story i think you’re expecting.”

there was no humour in victor’s little huff of laughter. “i think by now i’ve already thoroughly adjusted my expectations of the book. i still want to read it though.”

yuuri shook his head, hesitating. “i wouldn’t want you to start reading only for me to burn it when you got invested. best to read as little of it as you can before i burn it. i… wouldn’t want you to be worse off for having read it, too.”

victor sighed. “i really can’t imagine that the book is all that bad. i’m sure there must be people who… uhm, who’ve read the book, and loved it. your family, your friends…”

“oh, there’s some people who like it”, yuuri said, digging his fingernails deeper into his skin, “a few people even who love it, i think. though i cannot pretend i understand why, but they do. i know that. but that doesn’t mean they wouldn’t be better off for never having read it. happier.” he searched victor’s face, tracing the bags underneath his eyes, the slight lines pinched between his eyebrows, “you know, the things we love don’t always make us happy.”

victor’s eyes widened, and he opened and closed his mouth a couple of times before speaking. 

“still—having already read it, would it really make things better for them if you burned the book now? wouldn’t it just make them more unhappy, losing a book that they love?”

yuuri shuffled his seat slightly, the lumpy river bank growing uncomfortable under his bum, the spring chill seeping in. he tucked his chin into the collar of his jacket. 

“maybe”, he said, “for a while. but they have other books they love around. can maybe even find new ones. they can move on, without all the burdens that… that reading this book put on them. they won’t have to read any more of it. they’ll be happier. in time.”

“do you really believe that? or is it what you tell yourself to make it easier to burn the book? for my part, i believe that if it’s a book you truly love, you’ll never stop thinking about it. you’ll always wish you could pick it up again, reread it. you’ll always regret.”

yuuri looked away, towards where makkachin came bounding toward them along the bank. 

“i think that’s just because you build it up in your head. you end up forgetting how bad the book really was. whereas if you kept reading it, you would always be reminded of all its flaws. you might even end up hating it. it’s better to let it go while your memory of it is still fond.”

victor stared at him, mouth open. 

“do you honestly believe that your family is going to see it that way?”

“i…”, yuuri hesitated. makkachin ran up to them, tongue lolling, butting her nose against victor’s arm. in a motion completely absent-minded and probably ingrained by years of habit, victor took his hand off yuuri’s knee and buried it in makkachin’s fur instead, scratching behind her ears.

yuuri cleared his throat. 

“let’s walk”, he said, “i… i need to move.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a conversation was had.
> 
> thank you for reading.


	4. equilibrium

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **tags updated.**

they kept walking along the river, silently for a while, makkachin sticking closer to them now that she‘d had her fill of running around. 

they passed by a couple more bridges, smaller than the first and not as high. yuuri let them pass—they might have to cross the river eventually, but he could already imagine what victor‘s reaction would be.

the wheels of victor‘s suitcase rumbled evenly on the asphalt.

yuuri took a deep breath, and spoke.

“how much do you know about japanese culture? about the japanese people?”

victor looked over at him, obviously caught off guard by the question.

"uhm… not much. a little bit from pop culture, much of which is stereotypes, i suspect. i‘ve been to japan a fair few times, but always for competition, so I didn‘t exactly have the time to…“, he cleared his throat, "meet the locals.“

yuuri nodded. this was more or less what he had expected. stereotypes abounded, as, he suspected, was true for most nationalities, and while some of them may even have a basis in truth, most were likely not accurate, and most importantly, they were superficial.

he wouldn‘t have expected victor to know more, just like he himself did not know much about russian culture beyond stereotypes.

he chewed on his lips, silent for a few more seconds.

"did you know“, he said then, "that japan has one of the highest rates of suicide in the world?“

victor stared at him, but shook his head in the end. "i didn‘t“, he said, "why… why is that?“

yuuri pulled up his shoulders.

"i suspect there‘s no simple answer to that. it probably has something to do with the fact that mental health is still a somewhat precarious topic here. you can get medication, but therapy… it‘s not—… it‘s not talked about. you don‘t talk about that sort of thing. you‘re expected to either fix it, or you bear it silently, or you…“, he sighed, "remove yourself. uhm.“ yuuri tilted his head, thinking back over his words. “i’m editorialising.”

a somewhat horrified look had crept upon victor‘s face. "that seems very callous. isn‘t there something, uh… about solidarity in japanese culture?“

yuuri dipped his head. "it‘s all about the individual sacrifice for the society, though. not so much the other way round. if you‘ve got problems… well, that‘s your business, as long as it doesn‘t prevent you from contributing to society.“

again victor‘s brow was furrowed. 

"i‘m… i‘m sorry, that must-...“, he began, but yuuri waved his attempts at comfort away.

"that kind of thing has a very long standing tradition in japan. you‘ve heard about _seppuku_ , i assume? or _harakiri_ , it is often called in the west, i believe. and _kamikaze_.“

"ah… yes. i have.“

"well, it‘s not the same anymore, of course. but I think a lot of that belief still carries over to this day. for some people, anyway. you know, that in some situations, it is the upstanding thing to do, taking your own life. the responsible thing.“

"do you believe that?“

yuuri hummed thoughtfully, considering. "not… consciously“, he finally said, slowly, "not rationally. but it is the kind of thinking i grew up with, so I can‘t say for sure it hasn’t influenced me.“

“you grew up with…? so, does your family-...“, victor interrupted himself with a gasp, and there was his hand again, firmly around yuuri‘s arm, pulling him to a stop. yuuri looked back at him and saw something like fury pass over his features. "you don‘t… you‘re not saying that your family has suggested that you should…?“

"oh“, yuuri blinked at the barely constrained anger in victor‘s voice, "oh no, not at all. they wouldn‘t. my family, ah…“, he tore his gaze away from victor‘s expectant blue eyes, stared at his shoes, "they‘ve always been very good to me. much better than i deserve.“ 

he cleared his throat. "what i mean to say is… they would understand. living in this culture… they might not agree. but they would understand why i did what i did. they would understand that i was trying to take responsibility.“

still standing stock still, his eyes fixed on yuuri’s face, victor worked his jaw, no words spilling out. he swallowed. yuuri could see the movement in his throat.

“i don’t understand, yuuri”, victor finally said, and his voice was soft, a whisper, stark in contrast to his earlier anger. “i don’t understand what you could possibly have done that is so bad that you feel you need to do this to… i don’t know, make it up to your family?”

yuuri turned his head away, glancing at the grass, at makkachin, who had come to a halt and was watching them curiously, at the light reflecting off the zipper of victor’s suitcase. he said nothing.

finally, victor spoke again. “this is not just—... i mean… this is not about what happened at the final, is it? or at your nationals?”

yuuri’s stomach clenched painfully, nausea suddenly roiling. of course. of course victor would know. of course it hadn’t been enough to humiliate himself in front of his idol in sochi. of course he would have looked up japanese nationals, if what he said about the banquet was true, and watched him fall apart all over again. of course he had to catch victor’s attention with the most catastrophic skate he’d ever put onto the ice.

and victor was still talking.

“i know it may seem like the worst thing ever, especially when it ends up cutting your season short, but you still made it into the grand prix final, that’s a great achievement, and—...”

“stop.”

the word was just a whisper, but victor fell silent. watched him expectantly. yuuri still wasn’t facing him, but he could feel it, itching on his skin.

victor made a couple more attempts to say something, but each time yuuri cut him off with a sharp shake of his head.

“i’m sorry, i—...”

“if you want to…”

yuuri wrapped his arms around his body, dragging his fingernails along the soft skin of his forearms, slowly, deeply, not drawing blood but, he knew, leaving dark, bruised scratches.

“have you ever felt like this, victor?”

there were couple of seconds’ worth heavy silence, before victor laughed, high and nervous, forcing itself out of his throat. 

“i don’t know, i mean, everyone has bad days sometimes, right? that’s normal, that’s just part of life. but i don’t… i don’t think—...”

yuuri felt something inside his chest wilt. he nodded slowly, pulling his arm out of victor’s loosened grasp and turning to walk away. 

“wait—yuuri! where are you going?”

victor made to grab for his arm again, but this time yuuri didn’t let him. this time, he pulled away.

“just… forget i said anything”, he said, “i shouldn’t have asked.”

“yuuri, please! just… i’m sorry, i’m trying to understand but… won’t you help me understand?”

yuuri halted for a moment, not turning around.

“i’ve said this before and i’ll say it again, victor: i don’t owe you anything.”

and for a moment he thought that would be it; that he would be allowed to walk away, that victor would let him go.

victor didn’t. 

“you’re right”, he said behind yuuri.

and yuuri didn’t walk away, not quite, not yet.

“i keep demanding your trust”, victor continued, “i keep demanding the truth. and yet i am not willing to give you either. that’s not fair. i—...”, he took a deep breath, “the truth is, i don’t know how you feel. i don’t know what it’s like to hate yourself so desperately. i’ve never felt very strongly about myself either way. nor is there anything in my life i feel the need to make amends for, to… well, anyone.”

a long, heavy pause descended between them. 

“what i do know, though”, victor’s voice was hoarse now, barely more than a whisper, “is what it’s like to be tired. s—... so tired. so tired that you think you cannot possibly face another day. so tired that you wish everything would just… stop. for a while.”

another breathy, nervous laugh, but it didn’t sound as forced, this time.

“i don’t think i’ve ever actively thought about hurting myself. let alone taken any actions. but looking back, i think there’ve been a lot of nights where i would have been fine with not waking up again.”

finally, yuuri turned around again, searching victor’s gaze. victor almost flinched back from his movement, as if unsure what kind of reaction to expect.

“why?”

victor blinked. “wh—... why?”, he repeated.

yuuri nodded. “why have you felt like this?”

victor pulled a grimace, but quickly schooled his face into a forced grin.

“i know, you’re right. why should i feel like this? it’s ridiculous, isn’t it. i’m successful, the best in my field. i’m financially independent, and, ah, everyone loves victor nikiforov, right? I should—...”

“victor”, yuuri interrupted him, “i didn’t ask for the reasons why you shouldn’t feel like this. i asked for the reasons why you _do_.”

victor stilled, staring at him, wide-eyed. he opened his mouth, closed it again. 

“take your time”, yuuri said, faced with the helpless look on victor’s face, “think about it.”

they stood for a few long minutes, silently, the breeze tugging on their clothes. makkachin, clearly having decided that they weren’t moving on anytime soon, had curled up by victor’s feet. 

yuuri kept a close eye on him—a quick succession of expressions flitted over victor’s face. several times yuuri could see him cringe.

victor didn’t look any less helpless, but a lot more frustrated by the time he opened his mouth again.

“i can’t say, yuuri, i don’t…. i don’t—.... there’s so many reasons, but as soon as i try to put them into words, it all sounds so silly.”

yuuri nodded and took a step closer.

“it does, doesn’t it?”, he said, softly. victor regarded him, his eyebrows creased. “i think it’s pointless, to talk about reasons for suicide. no matter what reasons you have, and no matter how good your reasons are—if there is such a thing—trying to say it out loud and make another person understand will always… it will always sound mundane, and so unimportant. because there’s no way to express these things in words.”

yuuri slung his arms tighter around himself, renewing his grip on his red-scratched skin. 

“words will never express how these things burn you up inside. how they erode you and tear you into pieces until you feel there’s more hollow in you than substance. how they wear and weigh you down. words may be able to express the reason, but they will never make someone else understand.” yuuri looked up at victor warily. “does that makes sense to you?”

victor licked his lips and nodded, voice still hoarse when he said: “yeah. yeah that… sounds right.”

“good”, yuuri said, and took another step closer, coming to a halt just out of arm’s reach from victor, makkachin resting between them. “then, will you keep that in mind?”

“i… what? yuuri?”

“will you keep it in mind”, yuuri repeated, “and not say anything until i’m done?”

surprise and worry mixed on victor’s creased brow, but he nodded.

yuuri did the same, swallowing against his dry, tacky mouth, his tongue resting heavy between his teeth.

“alright”, yuuri said, and started talking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> on the portrayal of japanese culture in this chapter:  
> i have done research on the topic, as much as the internet allows for it, but i have not spent any time actually immersed in this culture, so there is bound to be inaccuracies and a lot of conjecture. i tried my best to portray it accurately, but this is still fiction. some of the inaccuracies may also be attributed to yuuri; the situation being what it is, he's not exactly careful about picking his words and being neutral here.


	5. momentum

“i humiliated myself at the final”, yuuri said. he took a deep breath, and rushed on. he knew, once he stopped he wouldn’t be able to start talking again.

“no matter what you might say, you and i both know that was not a top six in the world performance or score. the only reason i placed sixth was that there literally wasn’t any lower to place. scoring like that in the qualifiers, i wouldn’t even have come close to qualifying for the final. my first and last chance on the big international stage, my one chance to prove myself in front of… in front of my idol, and i _failed_. i let down my country and everyone who’s supported me all these years, and instead of redeeming myself at nationals... i made it worse.”

yuuri could see victor’s expression growing more pained, his frown deepening as he talked, but victor kept to his assurance to stay silent, pressing his lips together until they were thin and white. 

“i proved to them all that they were right to be disappointed in me”, yuuri continued, “i let down japan, and the JSF, and my coach, and my family. i…”, he swallowed. his gaze flicked down to makkachin involuntarily, her brown curls rising and falling softly with her breaths.

“i let down my dog. i left him, victor. i left him for five long years, i made him wait for me, and i never came back. he died half a world away from me, while i was off chasing some misdirected dream of glory or success or whatever it was. i abandoned him. he deserved better.”

yuuri shook his head.  
“and what for? all these years i put all that strain on my family, and what for? all that money they spent on my career, on lessons and skates and costumes and college abroad, and coaching fees, and what for? they could have had a better life, victor, if i hadn’t been so selfish. they wouldn’t have had to be struggling all the time, worrying all the time if the onsen would make it through the year. they could have invested, taken vacations. done nice things for themselves. my sister could have had a life, could have pursued dreams and ambitions of her own, rather than working every minute of every day at the onsen straight out of high school. i—...”

yuuri broke off as a wave of pain and shame suddenly swept over him, twisting a void deep in his stomach, his chest, making him choke. his breath was unsteady, his voice wavering when he spoke again.

“i have been nothing but a burden on my family ever since i got this ridiculous dream to be a figure skater into my head, and i have nothing to show for it. i… i am done being a burden. i am done. i’m not gonna drag them down with me any longer. i want them to be happy. they’ll be happier without me.”

victor was silent for a long time after yuuri finished, looking at him with that much soft sadness in his eyes.

“oh, yuuri…“, he finally said, voice quiet, a sigh. “i—“, he interrupted himself, shook his head, started again.

“i‘m not going to tell you these things aren‘t true. not because i believe they are true but because as you rightly said i don‘t know your family or your situation, or you, really. and i don‘t want to make you feel like what you‘re feeling isn‘t valid. but…“

he trailed off again, wet his lips with his tongue, lost in thought. his gaze rested on the softly rising and falling flank of makkachin where she lay by his feet.

“if this is really how you feel, if you feel you owe your family something to make up for what you believe you took from them… wouldn‘t it then make much more sense to stick around and support them? devote yourself to helping them have the life you think they deserve?“

yuuri huffed and shook his head.

“of course it would”, he said, voice strained, “but in case you haven‘t realised this yet, victor: i am selfish. really selfish. I don‘t think i—… i…” he ground his teeth and dragged both hands through his hair, tearing.

“i couldn‘t live that kind of life. i know i sounds so… so condescending, but living in the same small town for the rest of my life, seeing the same people, working in my parents‘ onsen, it would…”, he shook his head, short and sharp. “if i were to stick around, i would keep skating. no matter how much misery it brings me and everyone involved, i wouldn‘t be able to stop. the ice isn‘t something i can just… give up. i know it sounds melodramatic, but i‘m sure you know what it‘s like.”

when victor nodded, yuuri carried on.

“i would maybe last a season off, at most, and then i‘d want to go back to competing. and my family would let me, they‘d support me, even, and we‘d be right back where we started. or else i‘d force myself to give up the ice entirely for their sake, and be miserable for the rest of my life and end up resenting them. no. no. neither of those is an acceptable outcome. i‘m not… i‘m not strong enough for that.”

yuuri pulled up his shoulders, shifting under the weight of victor‘s gaze. he was exhausted; he wanted to sit down again but at the same time he couldn‘t move.

he flicked his eyes up at victor for a second, could read the thoughts written plainly into his face.

“i know. i know it‘s selfish. it‘s weak. it‘s the easy way out. this is who i am. i‘m not brave. i never have been.”

“that‘s not what i was thinking”, victor said, to which yuuri let out a noise of disbelief.

“it’s not”, victor repeated, “i was thinking… what if there was another way? what if i could help you carve another way? a way where you don‘t have to give up skating and can still support your family?”

yuuri‘s face darkened in a scowl. “i don‘t want your charity.”

victor shook his head. “that‘s not what i‘m offering. what i‘m saying is… yuuri, you are so talented. you deserve to be right there up the podium with me. you _could_ be there. if you‘d let me coach you—…”

“forget it”, yuuri interrupted him. “you‘re not throwing away your own career for someone like me.”

victor crossed his arms, lips pressed into a thin line. “first of all, it would not be thrown away. second of all, it‘s my career and i can do with it as i please. and if i want to—”

“then do that, by all means.” yuuri turned toward the river. he was itching to move and yearning for rest at the same time. he didn’t know what he wanted, but he couldn’t keep just standing there. shaking his head, he paced along the path, a few metres in either direction. “go ahead and become a coach, if you don‘t want to skate any more”, he said, “but do it for someone who deserves it. someone who will actually be worth your time. i don‘t know, go coach yuri plisetsky or something.”

he could see victor shake his head out of the corner of his eyes. 

“i don‘t want to coach yuri plisetsky. i…”, he sighed. “what if i told you that that’s what i came here for? to coach you?”

yuuri shot him a doubtful glance as he was once more turning around, his eyebrows knitted.

“it‘s true”, victor continued, “i… you asked me, at the banquet. you asked me to be your coach. and i know you were drunk, but i couldn‘t stop thinking about it. and then i saw your video, saw that maybe you meant it, maybe you hadn‘t forgotten all about me after all, and…”, his voice was almost timid as he continued, doubtful. “what if i came here to coach you?”

yuuri slowed to a stop in his steps, his arms once more wrapping firmly around his body, not meeting victor‘s eye.

“then you are as much of a fool sober as i am drunk.”

with a few long strides victor closed the distance between them, though this time he refrained from reaching out for yuuri, did not touch him.

“yuuri, listen to me! you‘re a good skater! you‘ve got what it takes! so what if your technical elements aren‘t quite up to scratch yet, your presentation is incredible! i‘ve never… you skated stammi vicino better than me and i—”

“do you think i don‘t know that?”, yuuri snapped. victor broke off, staring at him.

“do you think i‘m not aware of my skills? do you really think i would have let it get this far, that i would be this torn over it, if i didn‘t know that i could do it? do you really think i would‘ve kept on going all these years if i didn‘t know, deep down, in my heart of hearts, that i‘m better than this? i‘m a good—no, a great skater. i know what i can do. but only if there‘s no one else watching. no pressure, no expectations. do you think i would have skated stammi vicino even half as well if i had been aware of being filmed? that‘s—”, he took a deep breath, “that’s what‘s killing me. that‘s what makes this hurt so much. if i was really just a mediocre skater, i would have been content with a few junior medals a long time ago. but no, i just had to go on, had to try and prove to everyone—... that’s why it hurts so much. i can never make them see how good i really am. to them i will only ever be the skater with the glass heart.”

“but you did make them see! you made them see now! you proved to them what you can do with your video.”

yuuri shook his head. “and it will go down in history as a fluke. if i were to keep skating next season, everyone would look to me and expect me to do something like that again. i would just crash and burn even harder. give it up, victor. there is no helping me.”

“i don‘t believe that“, victor said, his voice a whisper. “i don‘t believe that‘s true. we can get you help for your performance anxiety, we‘ll… we‘ll build up your confidence. i have faith that you can do it. wouldn‘t that be… yuuri, wouldn‘t you want that? being able to support yourself through your skating, even support your family?”

yuuri sighed. “of course i would like that. but it‘s a pipe dream. it‘s never going to happen.”

“yuuri…”, victor hesitated. “will you sit down with me again? please.”

yuuri shrugged and followed victor back to the river bank where they sat down once more. yuuri pulled his legs close to his chest, burying his face in his knees, waiting for victor to speak next to him.

finally he did, staring out to the river. “don‘t misunderstand me, yuuri, but… you like me, right? my skating, i mean. i‘ve… seen quite a few of your programs in the last few months and the influence is quite obvious if you know to look for it. and then, in sochi… that wasn‘t just a whim, was it? i mean, of course you were drunk, but asking me to be your coach… you wouldn‘t ask me if you didn‘t value my skating, am i right?”

yuuri didn‘t reply, just pulled his shoulders up higher, though he was sure victor could still see the colour on his cheeks.

“so i assume you would trust my judgement where skating is concerned? what do you say then, if i tell you that i believe you‘ve got what it takes to make it to a gold medal at the grand prix final?”

“i would say that you don‘t have all the information”, yuuri murmured into the fabric of his pants.

“i have gotten quite a lot of information in the last few hours, don‘t you think? taking all of it into account, plus everything i know about your skating, i still believe that. i don‘t think that you are weak, or selfish. you are ambitious, and proud. those are very important qualities for a top tier skater. you are willing to do what it takes and make sacrifices. that is just as important. you are trying to do right by those who are important to you. i admire that.”

yuuri looked at him from the corner of his eyes, looking for a trace of a lie. victor was still looking out over the river, his hair ruffled by the breeze brushing past them.

“i believe there is so much you still have to offer the world, yuuri. you feel like you need to redeem yourself, make it up to those you have let down. very well. let me help you. let me help you redeem yourself next season. let me help you prove to them all that you are better than this. what do you say?”


	6. ignition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uh... yes, this still lives. 
> 
> i didn‘t think it‘d take me this long to finish the next chapter, sorry about that. ironically enough, the more this is moving into a positive(ish) direction, the harder it gets for me to write. since this was born mainly from wanting to vent my own thoughts and feelings, i feel more removed from it the less angsty it gets.
> 
> but oh well, turns out there‘s still plenty of angst left in this au, so never fear.
> 
> enjoy!
> 
> (in case you don‘t remember, in the last chapter yuuri told victor of the reasons he tried to kill himself, and victor in turn offered to coach yuuri and help him redeem himself.)

it was quiet between them for a long moment, breathless. then yuuri opened his mouth.

“i need to think about this“, he said.

victor‘s shoulders slumped, and he nodded. 

“of course“, he said, “i understand.“

yuuri nodded too and, chewing on his lips, fell back into silence. he stared at victor for a long time, quiet, contemplating, trying to sort through the conflicting feelings warring in him.

part of him was tired, still so tired. tired of this conversation, tired of having to think, tired of still having to carry on. that part of him still wanted to die, desperately and immediately. it was the part of him that reared up every time he crossed a bridge or looked towards an oncoming train. the part that was always tempted to walk into a pharmacy and buy some ibuprofen, _just in case_ , knowing he was allergic.

the part that fluttered in excitement every time he took off for a quad and realised it was _wrong_ , hoping that this bad fall might be his last.

but there was another part of him, the part of him that had looked up to victor since he was a child, that could barely contain its excitement at the prospect of being coached by him. victor, his idol, the man whose skating he had strived for all these years. the man who moved so beautifully on the ice that it hurt to watch him sometimes, here, just for yuuri, to teach him. support him. believe in him.

it was like something out of a dream. no, not even that—something so out of this world amazing that yuuri had never even dared dream about it. except when he was blackout drunk, apparently.

that part of him wanted to accept immediately, wanted to take victor up on his offer and seize the opportunity to be coached by a five time world champion. the most decorated, the most skilled, the most intense, the most surprising figure skater in the history of figure skating itself.

that part of him felt like a little boy again, wide-eyed and fascinated, fawning over victor‘s programs with yuuko.

at least for a moment, until the first part showered him with images of yuuri embarrassing himself in front of victor, falling and failing again and again until victor gave up in exasperation and washed his hands of him, proving once and for all that yuuri was so useless that not even the best in the world could help him.

and that might have been the last of it, if it hadn‘t been for the third part of him, a small voice that lived somewhere in the roof of his mouth and the center of his spine. the part that was so small sometimes that yuuri didn‘t even believe it existed, and at other times took over his entire being, wrapping him in steel and spite and making him soar.

it was the part that had prompted him to tell victor nikiforov _to his face_ that yuuri had skated stammi vicino better than him. it was the part that wanted to prove wrong every single person that had ever looked at him with pity or derision in their eyes after a bad skate. 

the part that sometimes whispered its conviction to him so much that he felt drunk on it, the part that often fell silent when he needed it the most.

the part that he thought had died for good at his nationals until victor had provoked it into rearing its head a few minutes ago.

it was this part that now whispered to him that this was his chance to prove it to all of them and himself. this was his moment of truth. if anyone could help him get there, to that place that he just couldn‘t reach, it was victor. that whispered to him _maybe there‘s a way you can have it all after all_.

the thought took ahold of his entire mind, holding him fast. _you can prove it. you can get there._

it set fire to his bones.

it made him _burn_.

he didn‘t know if it was enough.

he didn‘t know if it could ever be enough.

it wouldn’t undo the last five years, all the failures, the pain, vicchan.

it was all still there, it still hurt so much that he could barely breathe.

but if he could redeem himself—really and truly redeem himself… if he could make up for all that he had fucked up, all the money he had wasted, if he could prove that it had not all been in vain…

perhaps that would be worth suffering for a little longer.

and then… and then he could still kill himself, if he wanted to.

he didn‘t need to give that up, that… lifeline, that anchor that had, ironically, carried him through so much in life.

just do it, and if you want, you can still kill yourself after.

after all, what else did he have to lose?

he took a deep breath.

“alright“, he said, and his voice sounded almost sure in his own ears, “coach me, then.“

victor looked up, his eyes hopeful.

“really?” 

“yeah”, yuuri said, “until… until the grand prix final, for now. and then we’ll see.”

“and you won’t kill yourself?”

yuuri lifted an eyebrow. “would be a bit pointless now if i did, wouldn’t it?”

but victor just kept looking at him expectantly.

yuuri sighed. “i promise.”

“alright”, victor sat up straighter, squaring his shoulders, “under one condition.”

another sigh escaped yuuri. of course it wouldn’t be as easy as all that. 

“that is?”

“as long as i am your coach, you will listen to me. i decide what is best for your training, and if i decide that it includes seeing a therapist, then you will go.”

yuuri shook his head with a humourless laugh. “fine.”

victor perked up at that.

“wait, really?”

yuuri looked at him from the corner of his eyes.

“you don’t need to sound so surprised”, he said, “i thought i made it clear that i don’t do things by halves. if i’m doing this, then i’m doing it right. until the grand prix final, you are my coach. if you think that therapy is what i need, i will go to therapy.”

victor stared at him for a moment, then he gave a satisfied nod. “alright. good.”

yuuri shot him another look. “this only counts for the things that are usually determined by a coach, though. my schedule, my training, my physical and mental health. you do not get to meddle in my personal relationships or decide what i do with my free time.”

“wouldn’t dream of it”, victor said with a forced lightness to his voice, though yuuri thought he could hear a hint of a pout in it.

yuuri nodded and for a few moments silence fell between them again.

then, victor piped up again.

“so what do we do now?”

yuuri shrugged.

“you’re the coach”, he said, “you decide. do you want me to come back to st. petersburg with you? to train me there?”

“no”, victor said, a little too quickly perhaps, “no, i don’t want to tear you away from your familiar surroundings. there’s a rink here, right? the one from the video?”

yuuri nodded.

“there is. ice castle. it’s right below the castle.” he nodded in the direction of both.

“well, that’s where we’ll start then”, victor said, “tomorrow morning. we need to get you back into competition shape.”

yuuri cast him a glance from the corner of his eyes. 

“it’s still early. the season only just ended.”

“and the next one will start before you know it”, victor said, “you’ll need to learn two completely new programs. and you’ll have to get your weight back down, too.”

yuuri could feel his cheeks heat up as he stared ahead into the river, suddenly aware of the way his stomach must be bulging with the way he was sitting, with his knees pulled tight to his chest.

“it’s not like i thought it would matter anymore, how much i weigh”, he mumbled into his knees

“excuses”, victor said, voice half-teasing. “you’re gonna have to drop those pounds before you can set foot on the ice.”

“i know”, yuuri said, annoyed at how petulant he sounded, “and i will. just… give me a break, will you? it’s not like i was expecting to compete this season.”

“no, you weren’t.”

yuuri sighed.

“i’ll lose the weight. but i can’t just make it disappear at will.”

“good“, victor said, in a tone that sounded more like _you better_.

shaking his head, yuuri got to his feet. “i guess we should head back then“, he murmured, gazing vaguely in the direction of yu-topia. he wondered if his empty room had been discovered yet. he wondered what he would find when he returned.

“ah, to your parents‘ inn, yes?“, victor asked, perking up a little. “i was a bit spontaneous about coming here“, he said, climbing to his feet as well, “but i‘m sure you‘ll have a room for me, won‘t you, yuuri?“

“a room?“, yuuri echoed, whipping around to stare at victor, “ah, it‘s not exactly—we‘re not…“, he hesitated, then sighed. “yeah. of course we‘ll have a room for you.“

it wasn‘t worth it, he decided, trying to explain to victor that yu-topia wasn‘t actually an inn and there were no rooms to let. it wasn‘t like he could make victor stay at a hotel for the rest of the year. of course he‘d stay with them. already yuuri was running through the rooms of the onsen in his mind, trying to figure out which ones might be converted into a guest room.

“wonderful“, victor said, “the rest of my stuff might have gotten there by now.“

yuuri glanced at victor‘s suitcase that he‘d been dragging with him all the while.

“the rest of your stuff?“

“of course! you didn‘t think this“, victor gestured towards the suitcase, “would be enough for me to stay the whole season, did you?“

yuuri blinked at him, too tired to even be really surprised. “you came here _expecting_ to stay the whole season? without even having talked to me before?“

“i talked to you“, victor said, his grin wide and hard on his face, “you seemed pretty taken by the idea at the banquet.“

“i—… you…“, yuuri began weakly, but he didn‘t even know where to begin contradicting him, so he gave up. “alright. the rest of your stuff. my parents will have…“, _been very confused_ , he thought. “...taken care of it“, he said out loud.

he swallowed around a dry, heavy tongue. “we should head back“, he repeated, and he set off again along the river, slowly. he heard victor fall into step behind him, suitcase rumbling on the path, a quick whistle bringing makkachin to his side.

yuuri forced himself to put one foot in front of the other, taking him ever closer to his home. again he wondered if what he‘d left had been discovered yet. would he come home to even find his family there? would they have gone out searching for him? would they have called the police?

he curled his hands into fists, fingernails digging into his palm until it hurt.

what was he going to say? that it was all a misunderstanding? that he‘d changed his mind? that he‘d made a mistake? that he‘d encountered his childhood idol and been strongarmed into going back to skating? 

it wasn‘t like he hadn’t been aware that his actions today would have consequences. it was just—selfish as he was—he hadn‘t thought he would have to be the one to deal with those consequences. 

as much as he believed that his parents and mari would be better off without him—and he did, he did, genuinely—he also knew how hurt they‘d be, how scared, if they knew, or, perhaps worse still, only suspected what he had meant to do.

looking up into the sky, he figured that it was early afternoon. if he was very lucky, no one had looked into his room yet. perhaps no one had missed him yet. perhaps they thought he was sleeping in late again, or that he‘d gone out early to ice castle. with the erratic hours he was used to keeping, neither option would be all that unlikely.

perhaps, when they got back, yuuri would be able to act like there was nothing at all out of the ordinary. except, of course, for their foreign guest.

ah. the foreign guest.

he looked back over his shoulder at victor, who returned his gaze with that same hard, placidly friendly expression he‘d worn earlier. yuuri slowed his steps until he walked side by side with victor, staring straight ahead.

“say“, he began, clearing his throat awkwardly, “would you mind not mentioning what happened today to my family? i don‘t… i don‘t want to worry them unnecessarily.“

he didn‘t dare look at victor, but he could hear the sceptiscism in his voice.

“wouldn‘t you say that, under these circumstances, a little worry might actually be necessary?“

yuuri grimaced. “i just mean… this isn‘t their problem, and they already have enough to deal with. i don‘t want to put any more on them.“

“it might be good, you know, to have the support of your family in this. they might help you.“

“they shouldn‘t have to.“

“what if they want to?“

yuuri gave a sharp sigh, shaking his head automatically. “i‘d just rather they don‘t know, okay? will you give me your word that you won‘t tell them?“

yuuri saw from the corner of his eyes that victor was looking at him curiously, but still he kept his gaze straight ahead.

“fine“, victor finally said, “i won‘t tell them. for now.“

“for now?“

victor shrugged.

“as long as you don‘t take any more suicidal or self-harming action. if you do, i‘ll let them know.“

now yuuri did look at him, staring, incredulously. 

“you’re gonna rat me out?“

“i‘m your coach now, am i not?“, victor said blithely, not hesitating in his words or his pace, “so your health is my responsibility. you agreed, i can take whatever actions I feel are necessary for your health. besides, i‘m not ratting you out. i‘m just giving your parents a heads up that their son might need help, before they have to find him dead in their home one day after all.“

yuuri stopped in his tracks, all breath suddenly arrested in his throat. a hot wave of fear and shame boiling up from his stomach.

“is this a joke to you?“

victor stopped, too, looking back at him impassively.

“i assure you, i‘m treating my student‘s health with the utmost seriousness.“

“stop“, yuuri said, forcing the word like grit out of his throat. “you don‘t get to do this.“

“do what?“, victor asked, eyebrows raised.

“you don‘t—“, yuuri swallowed thickly, “you don‘t get to make me feel guilty. you don‘t get to act like this is a burden i‘m putting on you. you practically begged me. i gave you every opportunity, and then some, to walk away from this. you knew this was gonna be hard, and messy. you knew i was—… i—…“, he took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair, “i let you know exactly what this book is about. no one‘s forcing you to keep reading. so either you accept it, or you put it down right now.“

victor scoffed.

“so, what, am i supposed to _approve_ that you wanted to kill yourself?“

“no! you‘re supposed to…“, yuuri wrung his hands, trying to think of the right words. “you‘re supposed to take it for what it is. this is who i am. this is what i‘m always gonna be like. not—not the suicidal part but… the rest of it? i am always gonna be depressed, and anxious. if that‘s gonna be too much for you… if you think you can just _fix_ me and replace me with a better version then i‘d rather you leave now. we‘re both just going to be disappointed.”

victor went still as yuuri spoke. he looked stricken. 

“that‘s not what i want“, he whispered. “you‘re not too much.“

yuuri knew he should leave it at that; victor looked genuinely contrite. but the bile was boiling over before he could help it.

“so, what exactly are you thinking, then? i tell you i feel so guilty for all i‘ve put on my family that i want to jump off a fucking bridge, and your solution is somehow… to make me feel even guiltier? yeah, that‘s gonna make me want to stick around.“

victor flinched. “but… you said—you made a decision! you said you wouldn‘t… you promised!“

“and you think that makes it all okay, then? of course i‘m not planning on it, but that doesn‘t mean those thoughts just go away. it‘s not—i can‘t—“, yuuri ran both hands through his hair in frustration, “i‘m not healthy, victor! it‘s not like i can just decide to not have suicidal thoughts anymore.“

victor pulled his head down between his shoulders. he looked small.

“i—i know“, he said, “that‘s why i want you to get help. real help. i‘m not—i don‘t really know how to deal with this stuff. i think… it seems like you love your family a lot, and it might be good for you to have them on your side during all of this.“

victor looked down, absently petting makkachin who whined softly under his touch.  
“i just don‘t want to discover too late that i… wasn‘t enough.“

yuuri deflated with a sigh, all anger rushing out of him. 

“well“, he said, suddenly tired again, “your blithe comments are not helping. you don‘t… you don‘t have to try and be cheerful about this. it‘s a shitty situation, for the both of us. you don‘t have to act like it‘s anything other than shitty.“

victor looked at him sceptically. “i just… don‘t want to bring you down even more.“

yuuri shook his head. “believe me, you being fake cheerful in this clusterfuck is going to bring me down much more than you being unhappy about this ever could. misery loves company, and all that.“

victor took a deep breath and nodded silently, and by unspoken agreement they continued on their way, side by side. for a few minutes it was quiet between them again, though yuuri could tell by the way that victor kept looking over at him and opening his mouth that he was working up to saying something.

he didn‘t press him though. victor would come out with it when he was ready.

their way led them to another bridge over the river, and this one they needed to cross. yuuri slowed his steps a little as he veered to the right, nodding toward the bridge to silently let victor know that they needed to head this way. he half expected victor to hold on to him again as they crossed the river. this bridge wasn‘t nearly high enough to be any real danger to jump off of, but yuuri had a feeling that it would be a long time before victor would trust him around the river. 

but victor, though he stuck very close to yuuri the whole way, didn‘t touch him. yuuri could feel the worried gaze burning into the side of his head, though, and he was relieved when they reached the other side and now took a street that led them, finally, away from the river.


	7. refuge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> almost exactly a year after i started this and once again i have to express my gratitude to this fic to help me find the catharsis i needed when my words had gotten lost.
> 
> if you see me around other places you'll know that the last few weeks have been. hard. and I haven't really been able to write. but as usual this story helped me get out of that place.  
> i hope i'll be able to return to my other stories soon now. 
> 
> in the meantime, enjoy this chapter.  
> in the last instalment yuuri agreed to let victor coach him, and they are finally heading back to yu-topia. yuuri felt like there was something victor wanted to say.  
> this is nothing new but since it's been a while i want to reiterate the warning for **explicit suicidal thoughts**.

it wasn‘t much longer now before victor finally found his words.

“so… you still want to hurt yourself now?”

his voice was hesitant, as though he didn‘t quite dare ask, as if he wasn‘t quite sure he wanted to know the answer.

yuuri looked over at victor, considering.

he could lie. it would be easy to lie. 

he did it all the time; he barely felt bad about it anymore. lying about how he felt had become second nature to him, like skating was, or once had been. he lied to his family, his friends, his coach.

he didn’t find anything really wrong with it; he didn’t do it to deceive or hurt them. he just didn’t see the point in them worrying about him, and it would just make everyone involved uncomfortable if he were to answer those questions honestly.

he didn’t lie about anything important. only those inconspicuous questions that always felt a little slicing against yuuri’s skin. 

_how are you? have you eaten? are you feeling better? do you need anything?_

no one really cared about the answer to those questions.

_do you still want to hurt yourself now?_

yuuri knew this wasn’t quite the same. he knew victor expected him to answer honestly, a proof of whatever semblance of trust they had established in the last few hours.

still he considered lying. 

he knew he shouldn’t. he knew this was probably one of those crucial moments when he was supposed to make a fateful decision. 

he was supposed to admit that yes, he would still throw himself in the river without hesitation if victor wasn’t here, was supposed to admit that he needed help and then graciously accept that help as offered by victor. and in three to five years he was supposed to be better, healthy, and grateful to victor for saving his life back then.

or else he was supposed to say that he no longer felt the urge to hurt himself, expecting it to be a lie, but as soon as he said the words he’d realise it was true; that maybe everything wasn’t quite as bad with victor here next to him. and he’d give himself another chance and quietly embrace life, tentatively at first, but finding it easier as time went on. and in three to five years…

“no”, he said, “i don’t.”

it was a lie.

and victor believed him, judging by the relief on his face, and why wouldn’t he? it was exactly what yuuri was supposed to say, except he was supposed to mean it.

but victor didn’t know him well enough yet to tell if he meant it or not.

victor didn‘t ask any more, didn‘t dig any deeper. yuuri wasn‘t disappointed. talking about this was nothing but uncomfortable, and avoidance was what he did best.

they walked silently, makkachin bounding ahead of them in excitement, until yu-topia appeared in the distance. 

though it was the same squat, homey building that yuuri had spent almost his entire life in, it felt looming now, menacing, like there was something sinister lurking behind the doors.

he was relieved to note, though, that there weren‘t any police cars parked out front, no frantic, worried parents standing in the door. 

"this is where you grew up?“, victor asked as yuuri led him up to the front door—a bit reluctantly, but victor was a guest, after all. "it‘s cute!“ he was eyeing the building and the yard unabashedly, makkachin sniffing curiously at every plant and post. 

"yes. this is it“, yuuri murmured, taking a deep breath and praying before he slid open the door. 

mari was standing at the reception desk and looked up, her eyes flitting from yuuri to victor to makkachin, back to victor, a complicated series of expressions running over her face, finally setting on the closest mari ever got to wide-eyed surprise.

shuffling forward to the edge of the _genkan_ , yuuri cleared his throat. 

"mari-nee-san“, he said, gesturing weakly toward victor. "this is victor nikiforov. he, uh… he‘ll be staying with us for a while?“

yuuri wasn‘t sure why it came out a question, and his words certainly didn‘t do anything to alleviate his sister‘s surprise.

"victor“, he added faintly, "this is mari, my sister.“

"hi!“, victor exclaimed, raising a jaunty hand, and his tone was so familiar from countless interviews and media appearances that yuuri had seen, and yet it felt completely foreign somehow, after the way victor had spoken to him all afternoon.

mari‘s eyebrows were still high up on her forehead, but she gave victor her mellow customer service smile. 

"welcome to hasetsu, mr. nikiforov. i hope you will enjoy your stay at yu-topia katsuki.“

then she switched over to rapid-fire japanese, addressing yuuri, though her expression did not change. 

"yuuri, why is your childhood crush in hasetsu, and why exactly is he staying here?“

yuuri suppressed a whine and spared a second to hope that victor hadn‘t learned _any_ japanese in preparation for his trip.

"mari, please, he‘s not my—anyway, i sort of… ran into him? he came… for…“, for a moment, yuuri considered telling her the truth—not the whole truth, just that victor was going to be his coach, but he decided it would be better to do that when they had the time to properly talk about it and yuuri would be able to appropriately freak out over all the questions she would have for him. "… for a vacation“, he finally settled on. 

"in hasetsu?“

"yes?“

"why?“

"mari-nee, please.“

mari sighed. "and have you given any thought to where he‘s supposed to be staying?“

"uhm“, yuuri cleared his throat, "i thought we could put him up in the banquet room? we don‘t need that right now, yes?“

another sigh and mari‘s eyebrows pinched in a way that indicated to yuuri she was itching to reach for a cigarette. 

"i guess i‘ll go clean it out, then? you‘ll get him settled in?“

"i will“, yuuri said with a quick nod, "thank you.“

mari waved him off and left without another word. yuuri could already see her reaching into her pocket before she‘d even disappeared through the door into the hallway.

"she‘s getting your room set up“, yuuri said by way of explanation when he saw victor‘s questioning gaze, and slipped out of his shoes, indicating for victor to do the same. 

checking a drawer of the storage bench in the _genkan_ , yuuri found the rag they had always used to clean off vicchan‘s paws after a walk through the mud right where it had always been. swallowing down the painful pang in his chest, he carefully wiped makkachin‘s paws, who bore it with a curious kind of patience. 

once he didn‘t have to feel too bad to let makka onto the polished floors, he waved her and victor forward. 

"come on“, he murmured, "you can leave your luggage here for now. i‘ll show you the place.“

yuuri led victor and makkachin through the house, showing them the public dining room, the kitchen, the family rooms, indicating the changing rooms and baths. 

he introduced victor to his parents as they encountered each of them on their way through the onsen, and they greeted him with widened eyes but easy smiles, welcoming him to hasetsu. 

it took yuuri’s mother all of four sentences before she called victor _vicchan_ , making yuuri’s stomach flip painfully.

yuuri’s father laughed freely as he greeted makkachin, ruffling her curly fur extensively, which she accepted happily, tongue lolling out.

neither of them gave any indication of worry as they spoke to yuuri, at least not more than the gentle, careful kind of worry that had been underlying all of his mother’s interactions with him since he returned to hasetsu, like a faint background noise.

it seemed his disappearance really hadn’t been noticed at all, or at least no significance had been attributed to it. 

it was a relief, but at the same time the thought sent a distant kind of pang through yuuri’s chest. 

perhaps, if he had been able to go through with it today, they wouldn’t have missed him at all, in the end.

they ended their tour in the hallway that held yuuri’s room and the banquet room, from which mari could be heard, rummaging around beyond the _shoji_. 

“this is going to be your room”, yuuri said, gesturing weakly. “and this is me.”

victor’s eyes alit with interest, flicking to the door behind yuuri.

“your room? can i see?”

yuuri shifted on is feet, his own gaze trailing mari’s movements behind the paper walls. 

he thought of his room laid bare, stripped of all indications of life, clean, perfect.

it seemed like none of his family had discovered it yet, and he didn’t want to risk mari catching a glance of it or hearing victor comment on it.

“not right now”, he said, “later, okay? for now, why don’t you go take a dip in the onsen, relax a little? by the time you’re done your room will be ready for you.”

victor’s mouth turned into a moue of disappointment. 

“won’t you join me in the hot springs, yuuri?”

“ah, sorry, i have to help out here”, yuuri said, gesturing vaguely towards victor’s room. he was quite certain mari would be able to handle it alone, but there were few things he would like less right now than baring his flabby, out of shape body to victor in the onsen.

victor opened his mouth in what was sure to be a protest, but was interrupted by the door sliding open behind him, mari appearing in the frame, two boxes stacked in her arms.

she regarded them both critically.

“am i to assume that all the stuff that was delivered here this afternoon has something to do with him being here?”

“ah, yes!”, victor said, perking up as he turned to her, “that will be the rest of my things. just put them in my room along with my luggage!”

raising an eyebrow, mari turned a flat look on yuuri, who sighed.

“i’ll help you”, he said, and reached out to lightly pat victor on the shoulder, nudging victor to turn down the corridor. “you go ahead, victor. get into the hot springs, enjoy yourself. you remember what i told you about how everything works?”

“oh…”, victor looked over his shoulder, conflicted, “but don’t you want a bath, yuuri? i can wait for you, if you like. or i can help carry things, too!”

“no, no.” yuuri waved his words away. “don’t worry about it. you’re a guest. go. relax. i can always take a quick shower, later.”

victor took a few hesitant steps down the hall, but his gaze kept drifting back towards yuuri, and flickering to mari, too. yuuri could read his thoughts clearly from the crease between his eyebrows. 

he sighed. 

“i’ll be right here when you come back. with my sister.” when victor still didn’t look convinced, he tacked on, “promise.”

victor nodded slowly and finally disappeared down the hall. 

mari was still looking at yuuri when victor had turned the corner, eyebrow still raised.

“already so co-dependent, huh?”, she asked.

“oh, shut up”, yuuri huffed, feeling heat rising into his cheeks, and brushed past her through the door into the banquet room.

thankfully mari held on to her questions for the most part as they worked, weaving in and out of each other’s way carrying boxes up the stairs. there were many of them, and some of them were almost comically heavy, making yuuri wonder what exactly victor had brought to japan, so they didn’t waste any energy on speaking.

by the time the last box was set down on the tatami, both mari, full-time service worker but smoker, and yuuri, professional athlete but out of shape, were sweaty and breathless.

they took a few minutes to catch their breath in silence, leaning on the stacks of boxes they had just piled up, before they got to work on setting up a futon for victor to sleep on.

it wasn’t until then that mari finally spoke. 

“so. what exactly is victor nikiforov doing here, you said?”

yuuri chewed on his lips considering his reply, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to avoid this forever.

“uhm. he came to coach me, i guess?”

again mari’s eyebrows raised a little in surprise. this was clearly not the reply she had expected. yuuri wasn’t sure he wanted to know _what_ she had thought.

“oh”, she said. “so you’re going back to skating, huh?”

“i… yeah. seems that way.”

“i see. well, i’ll support you of course”, she said, fluffing up the pillow she’d pulled out of the storage room, “were you planning on telling us about this anytime soon?”

“well….” yuuri kept his gaze down, trained on the sheets he was unfolding. “it was kind of a spur of the moment thing.”

mari hummed and lapsed back into silence, which yuuri was grateful for.

it only took them a couple more minutes until they had gotten everything set up and carefully slid the _shoji_ shut behind them, leaving them standing awkwardly in the hallway.

"i‘ll leave you to it, then“, mari said, hand already dipping into her pocket to pull out a cigarette. "i assume you‘ll be wanting dinner later?“

"i guess so“, yuuri said. he didn‘t really have any concept of how the rest of the day, nor any of the days after this one, was supposed to go, if he was being honest.

"well, just let otousan know, then.“ mari gave him one last, long look, taking a deep breath like she was about to say something else, but in the end she just shook her head and turned away.

yuuri heard her disappear down the stairs.

he let out a deep, shaking sigh, letting his weight slump against the wall.

he didn‘t know if victor was still in the baths, though he must be if he hadn‘t returned to find yuuri again yet. yuuri knew he should head downstairs and find him. be a good host to his guest. to his coach. 

but he was alone. 

finally he was alone.

for the first time since victor had grabbed his wrist on the bridge, he had a moment to himself, just to think, to breathe, and he wasn‘t quite ready to give that up.

he briefly considered hiding out in his room, but he didn‘t really want to go in there, face that emptiness. not yet.

but he also couldn‘t just keep standing here, in the middle of the hallway, where anyone could stumble upon him. 

he breathed, running a hand through his hair, feeling the messy knots and tangles of it.

shower. he could take a shower.

that‘s what he had told victor he would do anyway. a nice, hot shower to wash away the sweat and dust, all the ghosts and clammy tendrils of the day that still stuck to his skin.

yuuri‘s face looked pale and drawn under the harsh lights of the bathroom mirror.

he knew he had a few extra kilos on his ribs and his hips, but his face did not in the least look chubby-cheeked and rosy.

his skin looked pasty, with deep, dark circles under his eyes, his lips pressed into a colourless line. 

he looked like he felt, more or less.

tearing his eyes away from the unsightly picture in the mirror, he dropped down onto the closed toilet seat, stretching his legs out before him.

he tried to make his mind focus on the events of the day, to process them. to realise how and why it had happened that in this moment, victor nikiforov was not a dozen meters from him, bathing in his parents‘ hot springs.

how it was that yuuri had agreed to go back to skating for another season, return to the thing that had made him so miserable, that had left him with nothing, so broken that he wanted nothing more than to destroy himself.

he felt heavy. dazed. 

he was more than tired.

so tired of being so tired.

his gaze flicked to the small cabinet on the bathroom wall, considering.

he knew he would find razor blades in there, if he went looking. 

he could end it now. this was his chance; now while he was alone.

a few well-placed cuts, and that would be it. darkness. oblivion.

but this wasn‘t…

that morning, on the bridge, it had all seemed so easy. so right. so beautiful, almost.

to disappear like that, erase himself from this world. unmake himself like he had never existed. 

to quietly slip away.

to free the people he loved from his burden.

no broken body for his family to fret and cry over. no ambulance. no need to organise and pay for a cremation and funeral. no mess left behind that would forever after remind them of their son‘s disgrace. 

this… was not like that. 

this was not what yuuri wanted.

yuuri forced himself to breathe and slowly relax. 

gradually, he loosened the white-knuckled grip of his fingers, buried deep in his forearms. his fingers were stiff when he moved them, deep red indents left in his bare skin. 

he flexed his hands once, twice, watching the tendons and veins on the back of them moving. 

then he stood up, divesting himself of his clothes, and turned on the shower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> when i chose the title from this fic after having written only the first chapter and having no idea yet where it was going, I did NOT know what a perfect expression of this story that song would end up being. just noticed that recently, listening to the song again.
> 
> comments are love.

**Author's Note:**

> work title from [save me by globus](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yPDqThq9QA0).
> 
> i'm [on the twitter](http://twitter.com/nihidea_art/) sometimes.


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